


Pretty Petty

by Astray



Series: Bones, Skulls, and Kittens [8]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (Jango is also a little shit), Gen, Let's be honest, Nix is a little shit, ace parents, it's a warning in itself, parents' reunions, prom planning is a headache and Nix wants her kids to be college aged yesterday, roasting other parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 10:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12363594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: Parenting is not all funs and games. Just because your kids are not wearing diapers anymore, and that you no longer have to suffer other parents at the playground, doesn't mean that you can escape other parents forever. Although riling others up can be a pretty fun game, all things considered.





	Pretty Petty

She hated parents’ meeting. She hated having to socialize with other parents. Her kids were in high-school, what parents needed to see each other for? But then again, it was prom next year and parents started organising stuff in goddamned September and she was silently grateful for Jango being there because she might have strangled at least three people by now if left to her own device. Right now, they were on the most important subject of dress. Well, dresscode for the ladies. And it had been going on for two minutes that felt like days. Or dog years. 

“We can’t have what we had previous years. It was a scandal.”

“What happened, last year?” 

Nix half-wanted to thank Janet for asking, but also, half-wanted to curse her. Janet was one of the few sane people around here - same with Karen’s father, but he rarely showed up. 

“You don’t know? How come?”

“Not all of us have kids in every grade, Sharon.” 

Jango stared at her like she had gone mad. Did she say that aloud? My bad. 

“Fine.” And so, Sharon launched into a tale of how a girl was dressed so provocatively that numerous parents’ complained, including fathers. There was only so much bullshit she could take, and a look at Jango showed that he was struggling not to say anything. Until he stated that if adults, especially men, looked closely enough to be able to tell how close the dress hem was to a girl’s bras, or how many inches above the knee their skirt was, then the problem was definitely with those men. 

“But-”

“It’s prom, they should be allowed to wear what they want without adults sniffing around like horny pigs.”

The argument quickly derailed into a shouting match, and Nix regretted not having brought any popcorn because there were few things she liked watching more than Jango tearing people a new one while remaining absolutely calm. 

When the volume had died down a bit, she raised her hand: “Now that we agreed that girls could wear what they wanted, can we move to the rest.”

The rest of the meeting ended in absolute chaos, but the summum was someone commenting on her sons’ dyed hair. And Delta’s nail polish. 

“I dye their hair myself, and taught Delta how to apply nail polish. If one of my kids want to go to school in a dress, wearing heels, or a tutu with a biker jacket, they can. I don’t care, so long that they are wearing something. Heck, if they want to wear booty shorts, I can’t even say know because I used to wear these.”

“They’re boys!”

“They got their driving license. If your kid is old enough to drive a car and possibly die in a damn car crash, they are old enough to decide if they want to wear makeup, or what they want to wear. I personally draw the line at tattoos and piercings, because I’d rather they think about a design for a few months. No shitty flash art they might regret years later. And if they don’t listen to me, I’ll be pissed, but I’ll just be ready with a ‘told you so’ next time they complain about being stupid.”

“You’re not protecting them.”

“They’re healthy, they don’t hate me or their father, they aren’t using and so far, they tell us about their problems when they feel like it. Their trust is worth the scorn of my peers.” She waited a beat. “Also, vaccines.”

Later, when they were back home, and she decided that tonight she would hog Jango - having your own room was awesome but sometimes, a human-shaped pillow was nicer - he brought that line back.

“You had to bring up vaccines.”

“I’m pretty petty.”

He did not look away from his book - her edition of Middle English Verse Romances, because the man was on a roll - but he still reached out to give her head scritches - she was flopped quite unceremoniously on her face, and her speech was slurred. Who cared.

“No classes tomorrow?”

“Nah. Why?”

“You downed almost the whole bottle of Goldschnee.”

“‘s cinn’mon.”

The scritches turned to smoothing her hair. She had washed it earlier, his hand caught some strands.

“Guess I’ll let you sleep your hangover.”

This made her roll-over, but she miscalculated and rolled almost onto him. Staring at him upside-down. She never got used to seeing him with glasses. And maybe it was for the best that he only wore them when he read late. She was not sure anyone who was not either ace or not interested in men would recover. Like that ‘ovaries gone kaboom’ gif. 

“You’re brain’s in the gutter.”

“I can’t look at the stars, there’s the roof.”

It got her a tap on the nose with the bookmark. “Idiot. Sleep.” 

“Read to me?”

“You’re not five. And you know the story.”

“But I like how you say it. You make Orfeo funny.”

She knew had won when he sighed. She rolled herself in the duvet into a burrito and fell asleep at the sound of “whoever is dumb enough to sleep under a graft-tree at noon, I ask.”


End file.
